I don't know how to describe the way I've been feeling lately. It's like everything just… Hurts. I've tried telling my mom and dad, but they don't know what to do, and they told me I was probably just burnt out from over three months of touring. So I brushed it off, just as they had, and went to sleep. I woke up halfway through the night with an unbearable throbbing pain coming from my left temple. I didn't know what to do, so I woke my brother up.
"Rocky," I whined through my tears. "Rocky, w-wake up." He didn't respond, and I realized I was whispering. I threw my phone at him, and he stirred, then sat up.
"What the hell?" He stage-whispered.
I whimpered and gripped my head in my hands. "Please don't yell," I gasped.
"Riker," Rocky frowned. "Are you alright?" I shook my head and winced, then buried my face between my knees. "I'm gonna go get you some aspirin."
"Okay," I whimpered. I waited until he came back to even lift my head, and let him practically feed the aspirin to me.
"Are you gonna be okay now?" He asked. I shrugged and then laid back down, pulling my blanket over me.
"I sure hope so."
When I woke up, Rocky was gone, and the house was quiet. I curled closer to myself, but I knew I needed to get out of bed sooner or later. I didn't know if it would be my stomach or bladder to wake me up first, but one of them eventually would. I sighed and sat up, then all but screamed as I grabbed my head.
I knew nobody was home—the house was far too quiet. I grabbed my phone from my bedside table; thankful Rocky put it back, and unlocked it. I whined at the brightness of the screen, and then quickly hit call once I found Curt's number.
"Hey-o!"
"Fuck," I winced. "Quiet. Can you come over? Please? I really, really need your help."
"Yeah; sure. What is it?"
"Please, just hurry?"
"Of course."
When Curt got to my house, I looked up, tears in my eyes. "It hurts so much, Curtie," I whined, and he felt my forehead.
"You don't have a fever… What is it?" He asked. He sat down next to me and wiped a few tears off of my face.
"It feels like my head's g-going to explode," I whined.
"You still have that headache?" He asked. During tour, I'd been getting headaches almost every night. But since I knew I couldn't cancel, I just kept going, and taking aspirin each night. I couldn't cancel on the fans, I couldn't break their hearts like that. I had to be strong.
My only remedy had been texting Curt—he'd been really helpful and nice and I needed it. I'd get the headache every damn night, and it drove me crazy. My head felt tight, like my brain was trying to explode or expand. During the last month of the tour, it just got worse, and I almost made somebody call an ambulance during one of them. But I didn't say anything. Just took a few aspirins and kept going with my day; because everyone else was already fighting their own battle.
"Riker," he said to me. "You look like you're going to throw up."
"I think… I think I am." He nodded and scooped me up into his arms, and brought me into the bathroom. He put me down in front of the toilet and started rooting through the cabinet for an aspirin. I tried to watch him for as long as I could, but the nausea was unbearable, so I turned my head to the side and threw up. I felt his hand on my back, consoling me, and I whined.
"Riker," he knelt down next to me, stroking my hair. "I'm going to take you to the hospital, alright?"
I gave a non-committal groan and leaned onto him. He helped me clean myself up a little bit, and then had to help me dress (which, at the time, wasn't embarrassing at all, but looking back it really is). He carried me to his car and laid me down in the back seat with a pillow. I curled up and slept on the way there, my head still pounding.
When I got to the hospital, they told me to sit in the waiting area, so I obliged and curled up onto a seat in the corner. I could feel my phone buzzing in my pocket but my head hurt too much to try and answer. I leaned into Curt and started to cry, and he held me through my tears. After a few minutes, I got sick of the buzzing in my pocket and answered my phone.
"Where the hell are you?" I heard my brother yelling. "Dude, you just missed—" I hung up without saying goodbye, holding my head between my hands. It started buzzing again, but this time it was Rydel.
"Riker, are you alright?" She asked softly. Much better.
"Y-Yeah," I sighed. "I'm just trying to nap. I'm staying over at Curt's for the night. Catch up on my sleep, you know?"
"Riker, Curt's house doesn't have an intercom that pages Dr. Chan. Where are you, really?"
"It's the TV. Rydel, I really gotta go, okay? I'll call you tomorrow. Love ya. Bye." I hung up and tucked my face into Curt's neck.
"It'll be alright, Rikes."
"What if it's not?" I asked, shutting my phone off. "What if I'm dying?"
"Don't think like that," he murmured, kissing my hair. "I won't let you."
"Okay," I mumbled. I sighed and he held me just a bit closer. "I'm sleepy."
"Get some rest, love. I'll wake you up later, okay?" I nodded, and curled just a bit closer to him, even though we were already touching as much as we could be. I felt safe in his arms, and there was no way I was gonna let him let me go.
When I woke, I was in a hospital bed hooked up to a bunch of wires and needles, and I immediately panicked. Curt squeezed my hand and looked over to him, and calmed almost instantly. "Am I dying?" I asked.
"Riker, stop thinking like that," he scolded me. "The doctor said he wants to take you in for an MRI." I nodded and moved over so he could crawl into the bed with me. I cuddled close to him and closed my eyes, resting my head on his chest. "You'll be okay. I have faith in that." He stroked my hair and hummed to me quietly, and I stayed as close as I possibly could throughout. I hardly even let the doctors pry me away from him for all the testing I needed done.